Tuesday was a b***h at the café. Ron kept me running from breakfast through lunch. By the time I’d washed the last dish and spray cleaned the counters, I was dripping sweat and feeling I could sleep for days. Of course sleeping for days was out of the question since I’d planned on stopping at St. Catherine’s on my way home. I checked the wall clock. It was nearly three P.M.
I parked the Civic in the facility’s lot. Then headed up the steep cement path to the lobby entrance. At one point, feeling like one of the folk, I reached out and grabbed the railing for support. My breath came in short spurts.
Exhausted doesn’t cover it.
I passed reception and the nurses’ station and was halfway to Gertrude’s room when Frieda rushed out of the supply room, carrying a black garbage bag and almost ra
